Last Promise
by dontcryMasha
Summary: AU. Oneshot. Four unlikely young men become friends while serving the front lines in Vietnam. They take comfort where ever they can get it, knowing that any day, at any minute, it can all be over. Kogan. Kendall point of view. Excessive violence, adult language, racial slurs. No smut, just fluff. Mentioned het.


**Hooray for historical inaccuracy! If you want a fucking history lesson, read a book! ;) Enjoy, and here's a tissue.**

**xoxox**

Welcome to the jungle. That is a statement that you could really live by back then, but of course we didn't know the song yet. It still remained true. Against our wills, we were schlepped off to the nastiest, stickiest, most fucked up place you could ever imagine. Yes, Vietnam. I'm still not sure how I made it out of there alive without some miraculous act of God. Despite the pure horror that we faced daily, I can look back upon those days with a bit of fondness. That might sound crazy, I know, but it all started three months into my deployment.

I was just 20 years old and I had been stuck in a group of dismal guys my age, all grumping and cursing the fate that had been dropped on them. My best buddies ended being a fellow by the name of James Diamond, whose primary concern throughout his service was how they shaved his hair down. I don't know how a guy can be facing death every day and still be more worried about his looks, but he was. Maybe it was just his way of dealing with it.

There was also Carlos Garcia, who was obviously Hispanic. If anybody was suited for that kind of warfare it was Carlos. Everybody hated being there and nobody was really good at it, but some folks just blended in like second nature. They told me I was like that, too, but I never noticed it.

Like I said, three months into my deployment we had a few more guys come into our squad. They shoved a fourth grunt into our bunk. When he first came in, I had an instant gut feeling that he would not fare well in Vietnam. The look of absolute fear on his face was so sad and overwhelming that it could break your heart. He was a short, fair skinned guy with what looked like dark hair and chocolate eyes. I hadn't seen anybody stick out as much as he did.

"Hey," I said when the guy came in. Somewhere along the line I had established myself as the sort of leader in that group, so I did most of the important talking. "What's your name?"

"Logan. Logan Mitchell."

"Alright Logan," I said with a tired smile. "Welcome to hell. Please enjoy your stay."

James and Carlos laughed. They pulled out a folding chair to the table made of crates that we were hunched around. James and I played cards as Carlos rolled cigarettes. Logan dropped his duffle bag on the floor and shyly took a seat.

"Where're you from?" I asked.

"Texas," Logan answered in a small voice. I had a hard time believing anybody came from Texas without a rugged accent, but I figured now wasn't the time to ask questions like that. Carlos sealed off a cigarette and I yanked it from his fingers. With a grin, a struck a match and lit the thing in my mouth. Carlos rolled his eyes and began to make another, meanwhile Logan sat awkwardly and watched.

"This really ain't your kinda place, is it?" I asked the fresh meat.

"N-no, really not."

Carlos handed a cigarette to James before he could steal it from him and I tossed the book of matches his way. I kept my eyes fixed on Logan. I felt really bad for the guy.

"It's nobody's kinda place," James said as he puffed on the cigarette. Logan smiled a little and I noticed that he had deep dimples.

"Dimples," I said.

"Hm?" Logan hummed in my general direction.

"Well, everybody's got a nickname, right?" I went onto explain. "They call me eyebrows, for the obvious reason, James is Pretty Boy—"

"Which I take _no _offense at," James remarked. He shimmied his fingers down his face and pursed his lips together. "As I am quite pretty."

"_Right_," I said. "And Carlos is Spic."

"Yeah and I _do _take offense at that," Carlos grumped.

"Hey come on, we still like ya," I said and prodded the guy in the shoulder. "Plus you're the only Mexican fella here."

"I'm not Mexican!"

"Close enough. Still a Spic, right?"

"At least you ain't a nigger," James said rather nonchalantly. I laughed. "Don't worry man," I told Carlos. "I still got your back."

The Hispanic guy looked up at me from his cigarette rolling and smiled. But then I added, "it's just kinda wet," and he frowned again. I turned back to Logan and said, "So how about Dimples?"

"Do I have a choice?" Logan asked timidly.

"In general no, but I guess…well, I dunno. You're Dimples. So you gotta girl back home, Dimples?"

"No. You?"

"Nah, but I figure once I come home all dolled up in my decorated dress uniform, I'll be swattin' ladies offa' me like flies. Bag me a keeper."

Logan laughed at what I said and I smiled. The crudely folded cigarette hanged from the side of my mouth. "Carlos has a bird though," I said. "A beaner bird."

"Oh?" Logan asked quite inquisitively.

"Yeah," Carlos nodded, rolling a smoke for himself. He leered at me but still grinned. "I do. Told her if I make it back, we're gonna get married and start a family."

"What about you?" Logan asked James, who puffed on his cigarette and then wet his lips. "Mhmm," he said. "There's a gal in my life."

"Neat," Logan sighed sadly. I crushed up the end of the cigarette and flicked it onto the floor. "What's the matter?" I asked the new guy.

"Nothing, I guess."

"Well that ain't true," Carlos said, chuckling to himself in a bittersweet sort of way. "_Everything's_ the matter here."

* * *

We had to move out the next day. The endless haul of trudging through tall, trap-ridden grasses and frothy, festering bodies of water was as depressing as it was dangerous. Logan awkwardly followed behind me the entire time, grunting and panting as we slopped through the messy jungle. As we low crawled through a wide clearing, single file in a long line of men, there was a great noise ahead and suddenly an explosion. A blast of grass and mud shot high into the air and we all clapped our hands over our helmets. The entire ground shook and men started to yell, our Lieutenant Maverick among them. "Stand-down, stand-down!" his shrill voice cried out. We were frozen in long tracks, waiting to hear our next action. Any excessive movement could bring attention to us than already there.

The haze of the explosion settled and fogged our vision. There was mud caked on my face and I stared ahead with my mouth open. Maverick signaled for us to keep going, assuming the area had been checked as best as possible for any more explosive devices. We carried on through the torn landscape. It seemed that three of our men had died just then. An array of mangled body parts scattered the muddy terrain. Lieutenant Maverick was hissing and cussing under his breath as a few of our troops scanned the devastation for dog tags. It was horribly morbid but I hate to say that I had become accustomed to it. There was a gagging sound behind me. I looked back and saw Logan with his hand over his mouth, green as the grass around us.

By nightfall we made it to our next campout area. It was the same as the others; nestled in between a thicket of tall, exotic trees with a bit of clearing and thick brush. Carlos, James and I showed Logan how to get the tent up. He was still visibly shook up from the carnage earlier and his face was drained of all color.

"Hey Dimples," I said. "You gotta let it roll off ya."

"Yeah, but how?"

"Don't think about it," I told him. We set up the usual crate-table and plopped down. Everyone was covered in blood and mud. James had a thin towel in his hand that he was trying to clean himself off with. He sighed heavily every couple seconds but we just ignored him. James only acted like a sissy, but Logan actually was one. I felt bad. Real bad. He didn't belong here.

We got into our nasty sleeping bags for the night and tried to get some shut eye. James and Carlos went out rather quickly, but I knew Logan would be up. The first few nights that we spent over there never caught a single wink of sleep. I peered over at Logan and saw him staring up at the top of the tent. There was a small tear along the ridge and the moon managed to peek through. What little bit of light it made trickled in on Logan's face and made his eye sparkle with a deep, heavy fear. We all knew that any second our lives would be wiped clear, but most of us dealt with it alright. Logan didn't. He couldn't. Here was a guy who had never expected to look death in the face so blunt and so young.

"Ey," I said in a small whisper, trying to avoid waking up the other guys. Logan turned to look at me. "Gotta sleep."

"I can't," he said sadly.

"Yeah I know, but you gotta. We'll be out and about again tomorrow, and if you're draggin' ass from being tired, y'ain't gonna function right. Can't let your guard down."

"I know," Logan replied with a sigh. His neck rolled back and he looked up once more, eyes still wide open.

"Ey," I said again. This time I reached out of my sleeping bag and jostled him on the shoulder. "It's rough, but we'll get through it."

* * *

We stayed in that base camp for about a week. The last day we were there ended with a surprise (as usual) raid from a group of Viet Cong. We sprung awake early in the morning when Lieutenant Maverick starting shouting and an array of gunfire went off. I instantly grabbed up my M16 and dashed out to where the action was. A bunch of Gooky looking fellows in funny helmets had us surrounded and our men were gunning them down quickly. I lifted my gun and began firing as best as I could. Logan followed behind with his gun, too, standing close to my side. I saw a couple of yellow faces blast off as we shot at them. Men from both sides shouted and hollered among the rapid gunfire. Then a bit of silence swept over us and in a fraction of a second I realized that a grenade had been thrown. It was hurled into the air and came down not too far from me. I heard Maverick shout something about moving out of the way, but my stupid instinct forced me to drop my gun and jump onto Logan. I flung myself right at him and knocked him several feet in the opposite direction of where the grenade appeared to land. Then it went off. It blew up and half our base camp was taken out. Tarps, tents, and unfortunately pieces of men flew high into the air.

The gunfire continued and soon it was obvious that the Vietcong were either all dead or ran away. As the mess from the explosion settled, I opened my eyes and saw Logan beneath me. He was clutching to my chest like a baby.

"You alright?" I asked. Logan flinched and looked up at me with a sad pair of brown eyes. "Uh huh," he mumbled.

As I came to, I realized there was a sharp, searing pain in my leg. "Damn!" I shouted and rolled off of the guy. I pulled up my trouser leg and saw a decent laceration. "Fuck me," I cursed. "This gets infected, I'm fucked."

Logan got onto his hands and knees and took out a couple little items from a pack on his belt. "Lemme see," he said. There was still a lot of friendly noise on our camp but it was diminishing quickly. I showed my wound to Logan. At first he winced, but he immediately began to paw through items in his first aid kit. "This might sting," he said as he dabbed something over the laceration. I grunted from the pain but dealt with it regardless, as if I had any other choice. Then he put a pad of gauze or so on it and wrapped more around the whole leg. It was the first time I had seen Logan act in anyway calm.

"Thanks, Dimples," I told him. He looked at me and smiled.

Before I could ask him anymore questions, there was a lot of hollering behind us and we both got up to check it out.

"Son of a bitch!" I hear Carlos cry out. Logan and I followed the voices to where most of our guys were huddled around someone on the ground. Carlos was clutching his arm, or at least, what had been his arm. During the grenade explosion, something must have whacked off his left arm from the middle of his bicep on down. My face turned pale when I saw him.

"Sh-sh-shit!" Carlos screamed. Our "medics" were rushing about in a frenzy, wrapping the stump and hurriedly getting him on a gurney. Lieutenant Maverick was trying to radio in for a helicopter.

I crouched down next to Carlos, trying to stay out of the medics' way and said, "You're gonna be alright, man."

"S-sure," Carlos stuttered. His tan skin was covered in sweat and he grimaced something wicked. "S-sure I'll be alright. H-hey, Eyebrows, m-maybe I'll g-get to go home, huh?"

"Yeah, sure," I nodded incessantly, desperately trying to reassure the guy. I had no idea what happened to the fellas that lost limbs, but my best guess was nothing too kind. I clapped my hand on the Hispanic guy's shoulder and squeezed him a bit. "Hang in there."

As I watched the helicopter land nearby and take Carlos away, I completely forgot about the slice on my leg. I remembered how Logan treated though. That sort of act doesn't go unnoticed.

* * *

We didn't know what happened to Carlos, and that shook us all up. Sure, tons of guys in our squad had been killed and maimed, but we didn't exactly know any of them. They were associates. But the four of us had become real close, and having Carlos get hauled away like that really fucked with our heads. Now every night, we laid on our backs and stared at the tears at the top of the tent along with Logan. There was no peace. I started to give up on the idea of coming home, all dolled up in my decorated dress uniform.

"Eyebrows, Dimples!" Maverick called out into our tent as dusk fell. "You're up for watch duty. Let's go."

I gathered some of my junk and followed our Lieutenant out into the new base camp. Logan trailed behind. There was a lookout post high up between two trees and we were told to climb up into it. I had done watch duty all night before but it was Logan's first time. He was scared, but I reassured him that it was more boring than dangerous.

We climbed up into the post and sat down against the rod in the middle. It had a low-clearance roof and a thin opening that ran around the entire thing so that we could look out.

"What exactly are we watching for?" Logan asked in a whisper.

"Bad guys," I told him, trying to look cool. I light up a cigarette in the side of my mouth and gazed over the pitch black horizon.

"How are we gonna see them?" Logan asked.

"I dunno." It occurred to me that Logan had a very valid point. The Vietcong didn't have lights or anything, and they moved very silently. Anything related to the air would be US, so we didn't have to worry about that. So what _were _we watching for?

"Ey," I said and jabbed Logan in the rib with my elbow.

"Huh?"

"Forgot to thank ya for bandaging my leg."

"Oh yeah, no problem."

"Looks like first aid is something you're pretty good at."

"I want to go to medical school," Logan admitted, but there was something sad in his voice. I looked at him and studied his face in the little bit of light that we had, mostly from the moon and stars. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just…not too sure if I'll be going to school."

"Why's that?" I tapped out the ash of my cigarette and brushed it away on the floor of the guard post. Logan turned to me and gazed into my eyes. He frowned uncontrollably. "We probably won't get out of here."

"Hey, don't say that," I told him. Seeing a man cry always makes me want to punch the mother fucker, but for some reason when Logan would tear up, I just wanted to hug him. So I did. I stupidly put my gun down and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He caved into my body like I was his mom who had hadn't seen in years. It was almost awkward but also kinda nice. He hugged me back and we just sat there like that for a few minutes, speechless. Amidst the constant chaos and destruction, it was real nice to find some peace and comfort with that guy. But I felt bad as soon as I heard him begin to sob.

"Don't cry," I said.

"I-I can't help it."

"It's all a buncha shit," I told him. "This place is a buncha shit."

"I-I know," Logan sniffed. His hands began to shake. He crumbled against me so helplessly that my heart was starting to break, too. I gently shifted and took his cheeks in my hands. I turned his face upwards to look at me. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight, wiggling about with great big tears running along the bottom lid. He bit down on his lower lip and quivered in my grasp.

"It's okay," I whispered. Without even thinking, I leaned down and pressed my lips against his. They met tenderly for just a moment and I pulled away. "Sorry," I apologized immediately.

"Why are you sorry?" Logan whispered.

"I dunno why I did that," I tried to explain. My cheeks felt hot suddenly but Logan stared at me with this sweet, quizzical face. "I guess, in times like these when you don't know what life will throw at you next, you do stupid shit. I mean, you might be the last person I kiss. I might be the last person _you _kiss."

"Ohh," Logan hummed. "What if I was?"

I cleared my throat. "If you were, I guess, well, I would…" Logan kept staring at me. His eyes sparkled. He was waiting. "I guess I would do it like this."

I took his face in my hands a little better and pulled him to my lips again. I clapped my mouth over his and gently kissed him. Small and wet smacking noises popped between our mouths. I opened a bit and pulled his lower lip inside, using my tongue to tickle across it. He melted into me and made a tiny moan, but as soon as that sound came I withdrew and put my thumb across his lips. "Shhh," I said. "Don't."

"Sorry, just sorta happened," Logan apologized.

"It's okay. Sometimes things just sorta happen."

"Can I show you something?" Logan asked.

"Uh, sure." I worried a little what it might be, and when he went for his pants I freaked. But then he pulled out something small and showed it to me. I squint in the dim light and saw that it was a pocket watch.

"Neat?" I said. Why was he showing me this? His face had this look of boyish adoration.

"It was my grandfather's," Logan said with some cute pride. "He fought in World War One, so I thought it'd be lucky to bring it with me here."

"That's cool." Looking at the watch, I could see that it was monogramed on the front but I couldn't make out the words.

"It's real special to me," Logan said. He put it back into his pocket and returned his back against the original roost. We picked up our guns and kept looking into the pitch black of the jungle until Maverick called us down in the morning.

* * *

"You lucky son of a bitch!" I shouted at James. He hoisted his rucksack onto his back and shook his ass at Logan and me. "Oh yeah, laugh it up," I hissed.

"Hey, now nobody said I was lucky. Not even sure where I'm going, right?" James said with a shrug. A couple of the guys were being moved. They were getting ready to head out as soon as the helicopter support came down.

"Yeah but still," I said. "Probly better than here."

James shrugged once more. The sound of choppers started to hum and click through the sky now. "Well Pretty Boy, it's been nice workin' with ya!" I said, changing my demeanor to be a little less sour now. James blushed and smiled. We shook hands and shit, we even hugged. Then he did the same to Logan, who just stood there and frowned.

"What's wrong?" James asked him.

"I guess I won't see you again," Logan said.

"I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell. Anyway boyyysss, gotta fly!" He followed the other guys who were leaving over to the landing zone, where two helicopters soon touched down in a whirlwind of dust and twigs. James waved at us before he climbed aboard.

"Just you and me now, huh?" I said to Logan, but he didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the choppers as they took off with our friend and disappeared into the other side of the jungle.

"Think he'll go home?" Logan asked.

"I have no idea."

Lieutenant Maverick jumped into view and shouted at us, "Stop staring, ladies!" I shook my head and apologized. "We gotta keep moving! Move! Move! Move!" Maverick started to holler and the rest of us collected out shit.

We headed deep into the thick jungle and charged on well into the night. It started to rain, and that was a bad thing. When water fell into that nasty terrain, it created all sorts of disgusting mud traps that made everything worse tenfold. We were soaked as we pressed on, sloshing through giant puddles and even wading through knee-deep and sometimes taller bodies of water. Since Logan was shorter and smaller than me, I would let him cling to my back from time to time.

Well into the night and our journey, the rain subsided momentarily but the mud was of course still there. My legs were sore and I could barely feel anything from the knees down. I saw Maverick charging ahead, his wide shoulders sauntering about with his massive, sludgy footsteps. As the rain slowed and the chatter of the jungle stopped, the only remaining noise was us soldiers and our grumpiness pouting and groaning with every step. I felt Logan's hand grab onto my wrist suddenly, but I pulled away quickly.

"What," I whispered over my shoulder. I looked back very quickly and saw Logan's horrified face leering around the trees.

"I think we're being followed," he said.

"What? You do?"

"Yes."

I tapped the guy ahead of me and casually whispered what Logan had told me, and he carried the message to the next fella who sent it in that fashion all the way to Maverick. Once our Lieutenant got it, he returned a reply all the way down our line. With each soldier who received it, they'd pull out their gun and slow down, looking from side to side. The message got to me and I told Logan to get ready. We crouched and held our rifles at eye level, carefully observing where any movement could be. Logan tipped his square chin to my left and I looked that way. I focused real hard and could see someone there. "Shit," I whispered, taking aim. I steadied my grip, almost stopping now, and let down on the trigger. A round fired off and blasted some Gook straight between the eyes. But that set them all off. At once, the entire area lit up with gunfire. It was every man for himself and we began to fire at will on Maverick's command. A grenade was thrown and a bunch of us went flying, luckily mostly unscathed.

Beneath the veil of the night, I slipped down onto my knees and tried to climb through the underbrush of the jungle. Logan followed behind. There were Vietcong or something standing in a circle back there but they somehow managed to miss me. As the hellfire continued back where the rest of the US soldiers were, I had found a safe hole in the ground. Logan slipped beside me and we squint to aim at the Vietcong. I fired off and took a man down. Logan did the same. Working quickly before they had much time to react, we gunned a few more to the muddy floor.

The chaos settled slowly and the guns chattered less. I stayed in the nature-made trench beside Logan and looked around carefully. Beneath the low trees, I could see Maverick working to move dead bodies around. We had obviously taken a lot of casualties. In fact, it looked like most of the guys were gone. They glanced around the area for more, but moved on once it seemed clear.

"Ah hell, they're going. C'mon," I said to Logan. "They probably think we're goners."

As I mounted the side of the hole and began to climb out, I froze in my stance when I heard non-English cursing. I turned around slowly and saw that some Asian mother fucker had a crossbow pointed right at Logan. Fire in my eyes. Fire in my heart. I wasn't going to let that poor innocent boy go down, (Logan I mean), so I instinctively lunged at the Vietnamese. I tackled him to the ground and began to punch him in the face. He cried out in pain as my fists pounded his jaw, over and over, with bizarre and almost super-human strength. He twitched, bleeding, teeth falling out, and I pulled a knife from my belt. My lip twitched in rage as I looked down upon the man's face. He started to laugh, but I didn't think anything was especially funny. I held my knife to his throat, hand shaking. The guy had dropped his crossbow but his hand was pointing.

"The fuck you pointin' at?" I asked him, even though he definitely did not understand English. I ground my teeth together and squeezed the knife in my hand. With one strong stroke, I slit the man's throat clean. I dropped his dead body from my grip and turned back to Logan. "Hey, hey, you okay, man?" I asked desperately. He looked back at me with his eyes wide open. "Umm," he muttered.

"We gotta go, Dimples."

But Logan froze. He stared at me blankly.

"What?" I asked, raising my eyebrows high on my forehead. He turned completely and silently pointed to his chest. I looked as best as I could, but it was so dark I couldn't make out much. I reached out my hand and touched where he pointed to. It was wet with something dark.

"Blood?" I asked.

Logan nodded rhythmically. It was against protocol, but I fumbled for matches in my buttpack and struggled to light one. There was a bit of cloth there too, that wasn't completely wet. I shoved it into my empty canteen cup and lit it on fire. The little bit of light that my makeshift torch produced was enough to show me that Logan had been shot several times in the chest.

"How did I miss that?!" I cried out to myself.

"I-I dunno," Logan mumbled. His shaking pale hands reached out to me and tried to touch my body. I put the fire down and dragged him from the trench and into my arms. I did the best I could to sop up the blood, but the wounds were real big and real deep. Our squad had long moved on and it would be impossible to get him out of there.

"K-Kendall?" Logan muttered. His mouth frothed with blood and I wiped it away with the back of my sleeve. He stared upwards, beyond my face and to the sky. His voice shook and his body convulsed desperately. "I-I don't especially believe in God, b-but I guess of all t-times, no-ow would be good. Are you a reli-i-gious man, K-Kendall?"

"Raised Catholic," I whispered.

"T-tell me a prayer," Logan choked. Tears rolled down my face, mixing with the rain, mud and blood. So did they on Logan. I leaned close to his ear and whispered an _Our Father_, which gave him a little bit of comfort.

"I don't know how I'm gonna get you out of here, Dimples," I whispered. Logan tried to form a smile with his reddened lips. "It's okay," he said. "Can you promise me something, th-though?"

"Anything."

"Take my w-watch," Logan's quivering hand tried to reach for his pocket, but I stopped and retrieved the keepsake myself. I held it tightly in my hand and tucked it away in my buttpack. "Th-thanks," Logan said. I put both of my arms around him and held him as close as I could.

"K-Kendall?" Logan asked again.

"Yes…"

"You were the o-only guy who ever gave a sh-shit about me. Th-thank you."

"You're welcome," I sighed. His body shook violently in my arms. It was a horrible thing to watch. He was so young, innocent and beautiful. The whole time he had been serving, he must have known deep down that he wouldn't make it out of there. Keeping my sight fixed on his, he finally made eye contact back to me.

"K-Kendall?" he asked, even softer this time.

"Yes…"

"P-promise me one more thing?"

"Anything."

"D-don't let go until I d-die."

"I won't."

The rains picked up again. Logan stayed within my arms and I leaned down to kiss his lips. They were cold but I kept mine there until all movement and breath left him. A few moments after he died, I stayed with him. I ran my fingers along his soaked body and cursed God for taking him away, then I took his dog tags and had to find a way out of there. Leaving that beautiful young body alone on the muddy, disgusting floor was painful, but there was no other choice.

* * *

I went to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington DC, not too long after it opened. I took my wife and two kids down there to see it, but I told them I had to be alone for a while. It was a mystery how I made it out of that mess with all of my limbs and most of my sanity.

I can tell you that there is no James Diamond on that marble wall. I never caught up with him, but I searched on the internet and saw that he also came home from the war. There is no Carlos Garcia there, either. Well, if there is, it isn't the one that I knew. Though he lost that arm, he came back to his girl and started a family as promised. We had touched base, but it was too difficult to really talk to him. I never told him what happened to Logan. I never told anyone what happened to Logan.

In my old dress blues, I walked up to the memorial and scanned for that name. It took some time, but I did find it.

**Logan Mitchell.**

I raised my thumb and pressed it along the imprinted name which just so happened to be at eye level. For a moment, I felt as if he was there. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to remember the good parts of our time together. Was he really gay? I will never know. It's hard to judge in a situation like that, but he probably was. It broke my heart to know that he had died so young. I would give anything to go back and exchange my life for his. What did I have to offer? He wanted to go to school. He wanted to be a doctor. I just had some regular job and a regular family. God shouldn't have done that. He fucked up that day.

A few tears squeezed out of my closed eyes and I sighed to myself. At least he never had to face the sadness of growing old. I wondered if he had any family. I looked over my shoulder and saw my wife staring back at me from afar. I smiled weakly and went back to her.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Just, ah, I can't talk about it. You know, war stuff."

"Well, okay. You know I'd listen if you want to."

"I know, Jo. Just don't worry yourself about it."

"If you're sure." She looked up at me uneasily and we walked away from the memorial. I took her hand, but in my mind I replaced it with Logan's. His soft, innocent fingers that shook delicately in my grip was something I wouldn't forget. I sucked up my tears and left the memorial behind. The watch, however, still ticks in my pocket.

**end**


End file.
